Reaching
by mmecafe
Summary: Fate and destiny are different queens, yet their servants never change.
1. Chapter 1

_**Title:** Reaching_

_**Fandom**: Merlin_

_**Pairing:** Gwen/Merlin_

_**Summary:** Fate and destiny are different queens, yet their servants never change._

**_NOTES: _**_I don't have too much to say. I haven't been on ffnet in a few years and I suppose this shall be my return. I don't think there's enough of this pairing in the fiction fandom, and they have a great dynamic and history that's plain fun to explore. Hope it's enjoyed! Won't be a long story, just a few chapters. Rating will vary from chapter to chapter, but there is some fairly heavy M/borderline MA after a point. Chapters one and two will be filed under T for safe keeping, and I'll adjust it after. _

* * *

**ONE**

_Say it, Merlin. _

_Absolutely not. Do you want Arthur to back-hand you? _

There were voices in his head: relentless, nattering little bastards who never gave him peace. Merlin audibly groaned, scrubbing his knuckles over a temple. Today was not the day to be bothered by spirits of the abyss, oftentimes called the realm of not-so-bright-ideas. The last time he voiced their opinion Arthur stared at him for so long and so hard Merlin momentarily feared he would disintegrate under the stern regard. After that Arthur sent him away on account of spending too much time in the tavern and needing a few hours to recuperate. Merlin could scarcely remember what that conversation was about but he supposed it mattered none.

Although, he was fairly certain it had something to do with a rooster. And Gwaine. Most of their trivial problems had something to do with Gwaine.

It still mattered none, though.

This was a different matter, not quite so trivial, not necessarily life-altering, and for once had nothing to do with Gwaine.

It did, however, have everything to do with the reigning Queen of Camelot.

Sort of, not really.

It had to do with her servant girl. Or lack thereof.

"That's four in one month!" Arthur was pacing about his room, declaring each word as though it were a royal decree. Merlin stood by the table, rubbing his thumb across the back of a chair while he watched his king move about the room. Arthur was upset, not totally enraged, but angry enough. "Where on earth are they all going?" Arthur's anger delved to genuine confusion as he crossed the room, seating himself at his desk by the far window.

Their predicament, to make a long story short, was simply that every maid-servant hired for Gwen in the last while were making mysterious disappearances not long after taking up the post. The first, a sweet little blonde thing called Maribelle, had been loyal and close, appointed even before the royal wedding to aid Gwen in preparation. She held the position for a long time, and they assumed she always would.

Unfortunately, her father was killed in a sudden barrel-related accident so she had to leave Camelot to help her mother settle circumstances back home.

She was replaced by Kalliane, a short, old woman with a northern accent who shouted everything she said. She fell in love with the royal-carpet-beater who had a bad eye and couldn't hear. It only took a week, but Merlin argued love was love while Arthur groaned and set about finding another replacement. The next girl's name was Gwendolyn and she wore purple dresses and had curly dark hair. It was all a little eerie. She sort of just disappeared one day without explanation.

The most recent worked in the palace kitchens and because she had worked there for so long Arthur deemed her trustworthy enough. She had to leave after a week, though, promising rather delightfully that after a nine month leave she would return from her parents' home in the far country.

_Wait, nine months?_

Maybe this was Gwaine's fault, after all.

Regardless, finding the queen a new maid-servant wasn't exactly the king's job, but Camelot wasn't exactly a normal kingdom, and the last thing any of them wanted was some manic sorceress doing Gwen's hair every morning, snipping off shards to send to Morgana, all the while poisoning Arthur's chicken dinners.

Thus, the king took it upon himself to find his wife the perfect maid-servant. He was doing a lousy job of it, but it was the thought that counted.

Normally, his trial-and-fail efforts would be but another round. However, there was no more time. Arthur had scheduled the next three days to go off on his own, riding to a small town and back. It was an old tradition he and his father once shared. If the week was calm, they would pack a few things and take time away. Obviously, a king had little opportunity for such trifles on a usual basis, but it was those few days to be just father and son. Arthur enjoyed maintaining the tradition – or maybe he didn't, for all Merlin knew he rode off to sob hysterically for three days and then return – and Merlin knew his king deserved that much.

To the tradition bit, not the hysterical sobbing.

"Should I postpone my trip?" Arthur asked. Though he posed the question aloud and Merlin was the only body present, he seemed to be regarding some higher power in where he cast his gaze. Merlin looked at him, then the ceiling, then him again.

He cleared his throat and Arthur looked his way.

"If I may, sire—"

"Is this going to bother me or help?"

"Um, help." _Not helpful. You're going to be mucking out stables for the next three days. Don't say it, Merlin. Don't say it._

_SAY IT, MERLIN!_

He rubbed the side of his head again.

"Well, sire, I was just thinking that – Gwen doesn't really need a fully trained maidservant, I mean, she _was_ one, herself. For years, actually."

"Yes, Merlin." Arthur rolled his eyes and bit the name in agitation. "I am well aware of my wife's former occupation. However, her present one, in case you had not noticed, is of slightly different calibre."

Accustomed to the berating, Merlin continued, "Yes, Arthur, I know." He stepped out from behind the chair, moving to the untidy bed to make it while he spoke. At least this way he wouldn't have to look Arthur in the eye while he proposed what he was considering. "I simply mean that she won't be requiring a fully efficient maid-servant. That anyone would do."

"Not just anyone, thank you. I'm not shoeing a horse here. I'm hiring someone to be constantly set at my wife's call. And while I'm away, on top of that. Who do I find on such short notice I can guarantee won't try to lob her head off in the night?"

"Well, I was getting to that," Merlin said, picking up a pillow and fluffing it. "Gwen just needs someone she can trust to do things for her. You know, extra things she might not have time for, what with all her queenly duties and such." The bed was made. He worked too fast. Now he would have to look Arthur in the eye.

_Quick – pull a pillow off the bed! _

He unceremoniously tossed a pillow off the opposite end of the bed so he could waste time picking it up.

"Yes," Arthur said. Although Merlin had circled the bed to stand closer, he had his back to the king and could not read his expression. Yet there was something in Arthur's voice that sounded almost calculative, as if he were catching onto what Merlin was saying. "Go on."

"Well, I just figured, why waste time looking for a stranger who might or might not be totally trustworthy, especially with...closer...options?" Just as he was prepared to turn around and greet Arthur's reaction, the king popped up at his side and all but pounced on Merlin's shoulder. The young warlock jumped, startled, while Arthur smiled brightly and gave him a pat on the back.

"Brilliant idea!" he declared.

Merlin's eyebrows shot up in surprise, though he smiled slightly. "You think so?" he asked.

"Of course!" Arthur hopped away from Merlin, making his way to the door. "I wish I'd thought of it sooner!"

Merlin's expression crinkled somewhat. He seemed to have missed the moment his idea became Arthur's. "Uh, I beg pardon?"

"I'm a genius!" Arthur whirled around once he was at the door, pointing to Merlin with a large smile. "You can do it! Of course you can do it! Just while I'm away, of course. I won't be here to require your assistance, anyhow, and you two are thick as thieves. Absolutely brilliant! I'll let her know right now, see what she thinks. Pick that pillow off the floor."

Arthur left and Merlin stood there with a pillow in his hand. He pursed his lips then frowned, looking down at the pillow as though it were a person.

"He'll get it one day," Merlin muttered.

* * *

The next day, Merlin watched the good-byes from a window in Arthur's chambers. Only Gwen and a couple of knights were gathered around, seeing as the trip was made on the quiet. The last thing anybody wanted was a big farewell sending.

Merlin supposed he was made to say his fare-thee-wells earlier to avoid some sort of catastrophe that might have caused such an upheaval. Honestly, a man knocks over a few chairs setting breakfast and suddenly everybody thinks he's incapable of doing anything right.

_One day. They'll all see, one day. _

Not that Merlin was upset to not be outside saying goodbye with everybody else. He could do with a break from Arthur. The whole two-sides-of-a-coin thing was starting to bleed into familiarity-breeding-contempt and all that.

In other words, he was exhausted, especially seeing as Arthur spent the morning ranting over what needed doing.

"Guinevere is almost as stubborn as I am, just to a different end. She refuses special treatment to this day and I doubt she'll agree to breakfast in bed but try to treat her at least one day. Seeing as I'm off, she should get something."

"All right, Arthur—"

"And always make sure to ask what she wants the night before. I don't want a single thing out of place. I don't care if the cook is not cooking it. For the next three days, it's whatever she wants."

"Okay—"

"And if she refuses to stay in bed, then set it at the table and don't let her help you—"

"Well, I'll try, Arthur, but you know what Gwen's like—"

"No excuses!" At that, Arthur swatted him over the head. "She's not to lift a finger while I'm away."

"What if she wants to? Would denying her that not conflict with your saying she does whatever she so desires?"

Arthur was quiet for a minute, then turned to Merlin and narrowed his eyes. "And no tavern."

Merlin heaved a sigh, frowning. "Noted, sire," he replied, tone dripping in sarcasm.

"Good." Arthur slapped him on the back. "And do try to be discreet in whatever you do. Gwen trusts you, I trust you, you are a friend – oh, don't look at me like that—" Arthur covered his palm over Merlin's face, an expression somewhat touched but mostly smug, and turned it away. "But that does not change the rules of decorum. If one ill word is breathed against either of you I'll have you in the stocks for the next week, is that understood?"

"Perfectly, sire."

"Good. Also—"

"Arthur!"

"Just a few more things. Stop your complaining."

A few more things was actually a list of about thirty, but whatever the case Merlin supposed the better prepared he was, the safer. Not that he was counting on the livestock stampeding the royal bedchambers, but if Arthur wanted him prepared, he was prepared.

In any matter, three days away from all of that would probably do them both some good. Destiny could surely take a holiday once in a while.

He tidied the bedroom at Arthur's request, stopping only to peer out the window as the king at last departed. Waving at him from the steps, Gwen waited until he had crossed the courtyard and out. Then she turned the knights accompanying her – Merlin couldn't tell who was who from where he stood – and dismissed them. All retreated back inside and Merlin sighed contently, turning back to face the room.

"Well," he said, clapping his hands together. "This should be fun."

It delighted him, knowing that was not sarcasm. Working for Gwen would surely be a tenfold less extreme than working for Arthur. In fact, he was rather looking forward to it. Though they were friends and had always been friends, these days they rarely had time to exchange much beyond a smile or passing nod. It was not a sudden thing, rather a gradual wedge squeezing between them as time wore on. Essentially, the closer she grew to Arthur, the further she was pulled from Merlin. It was not inherently Arthur's fault; he knew of their friendship and would never try to injure it. It was just about circumstance. There was a difference between a servant girl being best friends with a servant boy than there was a prince's lady being best friends with a servant boy, never mind the queen being best friends with a servant boy. She had customs and expectations to meet, and Merlin understood that.

Still, sometimes he looked at her and found himself smiling uncontrollably, remembering the awkward servant girl who first approached him that day at the stocks. Arthur would usually smack him upside the head and ask what he was thinking about, and Merlin would dismiss it as nothing and carry on, a little more cheery than before.

But, he knew, always knew, she was no longer that awkward servant girl and he no longer that unworldly boy. Sometimes, he granted, it did more to upset him than make him smile, the thought that a world where they were anything but those green youths was not a world they could be together beyond a smile or passing nod. They never took time to sit and talk, to tell jokes and laugh. She didn't help him pick herbs for Gaius and she had no washing for him to help her with. He didn't stumble carrying baskets and she didn't accidentally insult him at every turn. They were never close enough to touch hands, nudge elbows, whisper, or embrace. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he hugged Gwen at all...

Naturally so, when Gwen at last came through the door, the first thing Merlin did was bolt at her, pick her up, and spin them both around.

"Merlin!" Gwen cried, surprised but laughing. He twirled them about then placed her down, laughing himself and smiling so widely he thought his face might crack in two. Gwen was giggling like mad, looking up at him with a sparkle in her eye.

"Sorry," he said, although he wasn't.

"That's all right," she replied, and it probably was.

"Is everything okay here?"

Merlin looked out the open door to find Sir Leon standing there with an eyebrow quirked. He must have escorted Gwen back upstairs. Merlin laughed a bit, baring his teeth to Sir Leon in an uncomfortable grin.

"Just happy to see her," Merlin replied. Gwen started giggling all over again, turning away from the boys and heading into the room.

Sir Leon sort of smiled as well, nodding. "Well, all right then..."

Merlin waved kindly while simultaneously closing the door in his face. Shutting it with a firm bolt, Merlin turned to face Gwen, huffing a bit.

"Off to a good start," he said.

"How do you mean?" Gwen asked.

She was moving towards the wardrobe, pulling pins out of her hair as she went.

"I promised Arthur there would be no 'impropriety'."

"Well, it was just Leon," Gwen said. The wardrobe door hung open to block his view of her, but he sighed contently anyway. No, this wasn't quite like the old days, especially considering he still couldn't really hug her without it people talking – _the queen hugged a servant boy while the king was away, good gracious! And it was Merlin, oh the scandal!_ – but he supposed that little venture in front of Sir Leon got most of the wanting out of his system. Just being in her presence like this, with time to talk, warmed parts of his heart laid dormant for quite some time.

She went on speaking, then, saying, "Besides—"

He looked her way and she closed the wardrobe to look at him, smirking a clever little grin that he came to recognize as the matured, glorious Gwen, and it made his insides tingle gleefully. He wondered if she could be as delighted with him, but then decided he had not changed much on the outside for people to see. Of course, Gwen was not most people, and seemed to see things before everyone else. She was good at keeping it hidden, though. Merlin always did suppose if there was one person he could trust with his secret...

But no. He was too good of a friend to drag her into this. Especially considering the ends all his other friends met the moment they learned. Save for Gaius, of course. Though he had his fair share of nights on the edge of the gallows.

Regardless, Gwen smiled and he smiled and then she said, "Arthur's not here. Probably for the best, because we're going to unleash a mountain of impropriety." She went back to the wardrobe, pulling something out and tossing it over her head. Merlin, who had begun to approach, caught it before it hit the ground. Joyful, Gwen spun around, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Merlin held up the light peasant dress, cocked an eyebrow at it, then looked at Gwen with that very expression. Something of a smile's shadow crossed his face as he already knew what she was proposing.

"Arthur has three days to himself," Gwen explained, shrugging and smiling softly, "I don't see why we can't take a little time out of the day to relax as well."

"Do you not have _queenly_ duties to attend to?" Merlin asked, jesting, looking down at her with exaggerated distaste.

She rolled her eyes playfully, plucking the yellow dress out his hands. "I am quite certain court can spare me a few hours. There are herbs that need picking and I have gowns that need washing. I vote we move down to the lake, though. It's quiet there."

"No one to witness our impropriety?" Merlin teased.

"Exactly!" Gwen proclaimed, waving a hand in the air. "Though, please help me with my gown, will you?"

"Yes, my lady."

She swatted his head as he approached. He laughed some more, seizing her shoulders and turning her around. She tutted, planting her hands on her hips as he hooked his fingers through various ties and pulled. He worked with little consideration for the proximity or indecency. He was already pink and blushing with merriment and anticipation. It seemed Gwen had set to planning these few days out even better than he had, and she only had the one night to prepare. The mere idea of the kind thoughtfulness she laid towards it, towards him, was touching enough on its own, never mind the legitimate hours they would spend together.

She was always there in the back of his mind, always standing a distance away, but now as those once sleeping spirits sprang to life again in his heart, he realized quite how much he had truly missed her all this time.

"There you go," he said, and propriety clearly meant nothing between them at that point, the whole back of her dress gaping open to reveal her under things.

"Thank you!" She scurried behind a scrim to change totally, accepting at least that much decorum. "Go down to the kitchens, there should be a basket waiting there. I'll meet you in the courtyard!"

* * *

He admitted to be somewhat thankful when he saw the lake she had in mind was not _the_ lake. _The_ lake where so much had happened. All their faces blurred past his mind, Freya, Lancelot, even sprites of evil who had tainted the earth surrounding the clean waters. It was something he could not help, wounds that never healed, but that he learned not to dwell on in day-to-day life.

He supposed there was no way for Gwen to know what deeper sorrows, joys, and woes lingered by that lakeside. Whatever the case, they went to a smaller one not far from the castle. Across the green fields and opposite a very small forest – more a thin strip of trees and brush – was a vast open space with a blue lake – more a glorified pond, he could easily swim from one end and back – surrounded by tall green plants littered with tiny pink buds. The grass was green and damp by the water's edge, so they seated themselves up higher. The ground leading towards the water was on a slope, so they were forced to settle at the very top. It was for the best, seeing as they could then sit beneath a tree, concealed in the shade. It was a warm, pleasant day, and for that he was grateful.

"This is certainly an improvement from the gruel Gaius used to pack us," Merlin commented, lifting food out of the open basket. "Also easier than stealing from the cook when she's not looking." In the basket was meat, bread, cheese, fresh fruit, and vegetables.

Yes, things had definitely changed.

Even as he looked up at Gwen, that much was clear. The yellow dress she wore was plain, but not her own – it must have belonged to one of the other servant girls – though it suited her just fine. Still, her hair was longer than it had ever been before, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. There was something in the lines on her face as well, drawn by the tribulations undergone the past few years. Yet she was still extraordinarily beautiful, he thought, as under all the sweat and dirt a working girl's position brought her, she always had been.

He decided only one thing might make things feel a little different.

"What are you doing?" Gwen asked as he hopped up, scurrying down the slope to pluck a pink flower on the brush by the lake, carrying it back up to Gwen. She smiled, clapping her hands together and beating her eyelashes, flattered. Merlin smiled as well, again lowering himself onto their blanket. He knelt beside her to tuck the flower into her hair, and she touched her fingers to it before he had pulled away. Their forefingers looped together, coming down to rest between them, joined, as she looked up at him. "It's lovely, Merlin," she said. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, my lady," he said, bowing his head to her.

She pulled her hand away in order to grab his head, pushing it away from her with an admonishing, "Hush, enough of that now!" He rolled away a bit dramatically, lying on his back after a pace or two. Gwen sighed. "No wonder Arthur needed a vacation."

Merlin scoffed, turning his head to look up at her. "Taking his side?!" he cried good-naturedly.

"You're absolutely right," Gwen replied, slapping her hands against her knees. "You'd think he was the king or something!"

"All right, all right," Merlin said, pushing himself to sit up again. "Are you hungry, then?"

"Not particularly," she said, and started to lay down herself.

"Oh right, of course," Merlin grumbled, plenty loud enough for her to hear. "Royal person takes a nap while Merlin does all the clean-up, yes, this sounds familiar."

"Oh, we haven't even made a mess yet, stop complaining."

"I don't think I know how," he remarked, packing the food back into the basket so it wasn't taking up space. "Complaining is all I have, Guinevere. Surely you won't take that away from me."

"Merlin."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Shut up and lie down."

He tucked the basket away and acquiesced, lying at her side. For a long while they simply waited, nature sounding around them, trapping them in a serene scope. The sky was blue, disturbed by only a couple white clouds, drifting slowly past. The occasional light breeze would tug at his neckerchief or tickle up the hem of her skirt, and both would smile before righting themselves.

After some time, Gwen said softly, "this is nice."

"Yeah," said Merlin, staring straight up. "It is." Not even when they were both servants did they really have a moment to simply lie back and do nothing.

His hands were laced and sitting on his stomach, but he pulled free and lifted one arm when Gwen suddenly slid in next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. His arm fell down around her, and he looked at the top of her head while she slipped an arm around his middle, sighing.

"Do you remember the promise you made me?" Gwen murmured. She started to trace little circles on his chest.

"Promise?" Merlin asked, fingers stringing through her long hair.

"It was such a long time ago, goodness..." She drew a line down his middle then circled back up. He squirmed, tickled, and she apologized by tapping the centre of his chest before continuing. "And though it's happened more often than I'd care to admit," she laughed to herself, "it was that first time I asked you."

"Asked what?"

"I thought I was going to die, that they would execute me," she said, voice growing ever softer. He almost swore a shiver ran down her spine. She was close enough he could feel it, but it was so faint if she had. His fingers started to stroke down her back in comfort. "I told you to do nothing but remember me. I am very much alive but...at the same time... I am not. I am somebody different, we all are. But, even if who I am is written and re-written again, you will always remember me?"

"I could never forget you, Gwen," Merlin said, staring up still, recalling the moment she accounted. "Not any part of you, past or present."

"I am glad to hear it." She pushed her hand across his chest to hold him tight. "And I shall always remember you too." He ceased his ministrations in order to hold her as well, tightly in a sure embrace, then lightly as they simply relished in one another's quiet company.


	2. Chapter 2

_**NOTES:** Thanks for the feedback! If I don't reply please don't take it personally; I just happen to have the social skills of a ripe tomato. I appreciate it, though! Hope it continues to be enjoyed. I will try to keep the updates quick. __PS. The rating will change next chapter, bumped up to M, so if it disappears off the main page you'll know where to find it._

* * *

**TWO**

At least he could claim their assent was somewhat dubious, seeing as it was mostly wrought from the springs of lingering sleep. Not that he had any intention of laying claim to what happened, of course. In fact, he was quite set on banishing the accident from his mind.

They fell asleep, curled in an innocent embrace. The space was quiet, the air was warm, the sun was shining but the shade was cool. They were comfortable, content in each other's presence, spirits so high they floated above the realm, drifting in some content netherworld with no root to ground. Somewhere between the breeze's light blow and the rippling of the lake, they fell into a light slumber.

What happened then, he was unsure, seeing as his mental faculties long abandoned the real world to reside in a blank dream. But he eventually began to stir, muscles stiffening and relaxing as his body came to sense, and he groaned a little as sleep began to slip away. His small motions disturbed her and she began to open her eyes. Dark lashes fluttered, slow, and she looked about lazily. Her fingers practiced a languid dance down his side, more in aid to rouse her senses than upset his. He came slowly to recollection, blinking down at her. Drowsily, she glanced up at him. They spent a moment both looking at one another and waking enough to recognize what they were looking at.

Somehow they ended up kissing.

It was not a lecherous exchange, not even a particularly romantic one. Yet it was not quite platonic. He supposed the word pure was the only thing in mind, some come-together that was simply natural, loving, and soft. It was not offered in hopes of some greater reward, not traded in want for any superficial desire. It was simply there, a shared touch. They had done nothing but embrace all morning long. A kiss was not so far removed, was it? It meant no harm, and it was indulged for no greater purpose than its very self.

He recited this over and over in his mind, and yet it did not dispel the strange sense of guilt in his heart. But what reason could there be for that? There should have been none if he knew he wasn't guilty. What else could turn his innocence? He realized blame could only fall if he had wanted it. But he wasn't even sure who started it, nor who ended it. But it seemed enough to be aware of her soft lips pressing against his own, and the tingling sensation left in its wake.

When she realized what happened her eyes widened, sleep purged, and she jolted into a sitting position. Groggily, he pushed himself up as well, looking at her in quiet.

The old Gwen would have ended in a fluster, tripping over her words as she fought to defend what had happened. Queen Guinevere simply looked over her shoulder at him, smiling weakly.

"Sorry." She laughed but it wasn't from her heart; he saw that plainly. "I wasn't thinking. Wasn't paying...paying attention." She wiped a loose curl out of her eye and turned back around, leaving him to stare at the back of her head.

He scratched his cheek, shrugging a bit. "No," he said. "It's all right. It was nothing."

She looked back at him, nodding. "Absolutely." She smiled fondly. "Anyway, it was your fault for waking me."

He smiled a crooked grin. "I could have always tossed you in the lake."

She squealed when he leapt toward her, jumping to her feet and running down the hill. He scrambled to his feet as well, echoing her laughter as he chased her down the grass to the water's side. There he caught her around the waist, stepping ever closer to the water's periphery. She screeched, kicking, throwing her arms over her head to awkwardly grip his shoulders. Laughing, he placed her on her feet, close enough to the water that its clear blue swiped at her toes. She backed up quickly to get away, grabbing onto his shirt as she stumbled backwards. With a wave of her free arm and an alarmed cry, she fell back on the grass, its hill-ish slope only marginally breaking her fall, and dragged Merlin down with her. She hit the ground first with a sharp, "ouch!" that delved into an, "_OUCH_!" when he landed half-on top of her and almost socked her across the face. He threw his hand out to the side, tossing her own accidentally and pinning her wrist beside her. He momentarily feared he might have severely injured her, maybe done so much as snapped her wrist, but she burst into giggles a moment after so all he could do was laugh and look down at her.

"That was your fault," she said.

"It's not my fault you're so clumsy," Merlin remarked. She rolled her eyes, tutting, but smiled all the same.

He briefly wondered when their exchanges became so cheeky. He somehow recalled more silly laughter about nature and Camelot than directly teasing one another. But then he supposed the old Gwen would have been too embarrassed and thought her remarks true insult, and the old Merlin might have misconstrued her meaning and instead offer a dull riposte, completely missing the playful intonation of her voice.

_Play_? He wondered then, as he looked down in her face. _Cheeky_, he called their recent manner. That they teased and they laughed and didn't mean the jesting but meant all the smiles. Was that play, then? Was that a good-humoured game?

Of course it was, he decided and knew, but could feel a lump in his throat slowly form as she shifted. It was somewhat uncomfortably, like she was suddenly confused where her body should rest. He watched and became quite aware of her breathing pattern, counting each rise and fall of her chest. Her wrist, trapped beneath his hand, began to lift, and he looked that way apologetically to let her go. A slow, timid rub of their fingers happened instead, as their palms slid over one another so their fingers could lace comfortably. When he looked back to her face, he found her returning the action as she had moved her focus to their hands as well. Another moment passed where they just stared at one another, and then in a voice both worried and warning, she said, "Merlin..."

He let out a breath and it made hers shorten, which then made his do the same and he spent a moment counselling himself on breathing technique.

_In, out, in, out –_

—_perhaps not the best mantra at this moment—_

Those damned voices in his head would be the death of him.

It seemed Gwen was plagued by a similar notion given the slight dilation of her pupils.

He wet his lips; they were uncomfortably dry. Her eyes fell to the motion and she swallowed, gaze flickering here and there as she blinked and shifted some more, rubbing her knee against the inside of his leg. His head dipped somewhat and then returned as he muttered, "Gwen..." And he took into account her long hair and the dress that was not hers and thought to add, "My lady," in order to return them to their senses.

It didn't. It seemed to offer some effect, just not the desired one, as he was quite sure the space between them now scorched with some invisible fire of the underworld.

_Splendid. Now what should make you feel guilty is turning into a kink. Bow down and offer to kiss her feet next. _

_Stop it. Just sit up and laugh it off. _

_This will end with something getting off but it's not a giggle fit. _

He grunted in agitation and she titled her head to the side, gazing at him curiously. It made him smile; her expression was so sweet. She smiled in return at seeing his, and the air between them settled to something a little more comfortable and a little less traitorous.

"I, um..." He had to clear his throat before proceeding, and even then found he had nothing to say. How were they to swiftly avert whatever...this was? What was this?

_Well, months of denied sexual resolution at the very start of your relationship, followed by years of romantic refusal... _

_A-ha. No... _

_You've been living your lives apart. How can a person tell how much they need another when they barely speak? Now it's coming back to slap you in the face, you stupid idiot. _

Maybe he was insane.

_And what exactly is coming back to slap me in the face?_

_You liked her once. Maybe loved her. And you know exactly why addressing her formally should make your insides tingle—_

Of course he knew, and realization dawned on him like the sun after a storm.

When they were young and foolish they played games of a different calibre, sharing smiles they didn't understand or dancing away from accidental brushes they were too scared to consider. Now they were older, more learned, but now things were different. Now they absolutely could not, in any way whatsoever, even _consider_ being together _at all_. They both loved Arthur – albeit in very different ways; he almost snorted at the thought – and that alone was reason enough to stop merely _looking_ at one another in a way that was not platonic. The thought this could be a problem had simply never occurred to him. He was either too young to understand, or too far from her to realize it. They spent so long apart, and now suddenly they were here, two people who had shared so much and lost so much and changed so much yet were as ardent in their feelings for one another as they had always been. The sole constancy in each other's lives, their comfort and friend, the one who never left. Yet, despite their heartfelt proximity, were physically always just that bit too far away to truly realize what they had, or at least might have had. He called her, "my lady," because she was— the kingdom's, foremost, and his, always.

Years were wasted, their hands reaching, fingertips touching, but never coming together. They were not supposed to, he was the king's servant and she was the queen. And because they couldn't have anything, they suddenly wanted everything.

So here they were, thrust together by fate, opposing their destinies, and waiting for either force to take action and lead them somewhere. Because the longer he stared at her, the longer she returned the regard, the thicker the air became until it was so heavy he could feel it pushing him down. And he knew what destiny Camelot had written, and he knew his did not cross with Guinevere's beyond smiles and passing nods, and it did nothing to help.

_You thought destiny cruel – meet her older sister. _

How true it suddenly seemed, and before he had thought fate and destiny the very same monarch. He always believed fate would lead him to his destiny, but it no longer seemed so. For every crevice in destiny's path, fate laid a canyon. For every wound, it offered death. For every berating, it offered beating. For every embrace, it drew a kiss.

The voices in his head went a little bit mad, incoherent gurgling as fate wrought another kiss between the mortal pair.

He remembered the very first time she kissed him. They were so young then, and he had all but returned from the brink of death. She seized him and kissed him and it was all the life he needed. She had apologized for it. He had assumed she regretted it, so he never mentioned it again. Yet, he could remember somewhere in being startled that he enjoyed her taste far more than he admitted. He was certain his expression did nothing to hide it, either. But she had later been embarrassed, and he was her best friend, and would never torment her or pull her in again if it was not what she wanted.

And their kiss today, that was almost as spontaneous as the very first. Perhaps less so in that it was not random or birthed from the seeds of relieved anxiety, but rather a natural moment, however unanticipated. He loved Guinevere, of course he did, that much he had always known, and Guinevere loved him as well. It was how they loved that suddenly seemed touched by a new light. Still, as it always had been, their love was pure, their kiss equally so, untainted, unassuming, an expression of adoration and nothing more. But then, perhaps that was romance in itself. Romance at its most basic level, if that was so. He hadn't even seen how it could be presented, how ambiguous an exchange of hand holding might have been seen by somebody who was not them. They had never even noticed; had it always been so? Smiles and touches, a good-humoured game...?

This kiss now was not a game, not playful or light or anything that could be misinterpreted. It tried; he could never say there was no attempt to keep it small, an extremely hesitant touch of their lips on one another. They didn't even close their eyes, nor did they look at each other, casting gazes up instead as if they were pressing their lips to something hot or dangerous and if they looked their nerve might be lost. Then it began to settle, lips pressing, eyes open but a bit unseeing. Then with a small breath she opened her mouth and her eyes fell closed, and he did the same because she was almost too much to see and the world surrounding didn't make sense anyway. He couldn't even remember the last time he kissed someone like this. It had never seemed his destiny to be much of a lover, and to suddenly have her taste set a passion all-consuming. His leg wedged itself between hers, pressing her skirts down, and she bent one knee in slight so the material folded before starting to fall back. The kiss, between the occasional heave of a breath, was hungry and desperate, lips needing until they had gone pink and swollen, tongues swiping and pressing and leaving their mouths damp. She bit his bottom lip and he wasn't sure if it was an accident but it made him groan. She pushed her arms around his neck and held on tight, because they knew the moment they let go it would be forever.

_Perhaps this is a good thing, _he considered. _Just...let it all out. We can't move past something we leave hanging in mid-air... _

_Tell that to the upshot below your waist. _

In the end, that was what made him pull back, painful as it was. If they took this too far who knew what point they would meet, and once there if they would have the strength to break it. There was a point of no return, and they could not breach it, because he was certain he did not have the strength to fight it once there, and given the way she stared up at him, hair spread about her, mouth bright pink, eyelids heavy and breathing more so, she would be as weak as him.

"We should—" he started, and she nodded before he had finished, ever on his mind's wavelength.

"Yes," she said. "You're right."

She started to sit up and he let go of her hand, finally. Yet once they were sitting across one another he somehow found his fingers in her hair and her hand on his cheek as they kissed another time. It was she who broke apart this time, with an almost-laugh as she shook her head and said, "no—!"

He tried not to laugh as well even though he knew this was the farthest thing from amusing. This was treason, and had they been seen—

God. It wasn't even for the punishment. But the look on Arthur's face...

Perhaps her musings wandered a similar path, for they sat there side by side for a moment, staring ahead, and there was certainly no laughter between them. When she looked at him he felt it, and so looked back at her, but they said nothing, looking away again.

Gaze on the lake but thoughts far from their water, Merlin didn't even look her way when Guinevere laid a hand on his shoulder.

"We should go back," he said, and was sorry for sounding so bitter.

She retracted her hand. "Merlin..."

"They'll be missing you," he said, looking her way, and it made her bounce back slightly. They stared at one another a moment, locked in mutual understanding, and then she looked down, nodding.

"Quite right," she said, smoothing the front of the dress that was not hers. "They must have noticed my absence by now." She looked up at him again. "I miss them too."

And of course he knew she was speaking straight at him, but they were Guinevere and Merlin not Gwen and Merlin and so even though she spoke _of_ him, her words were directed at him and not to him. Queens didn't talk _to_ servant boys. Queens didn't kiss servant boys. What game were they trying to initiate? This could only bring pain to everyone. This new beginning was their final ending. And they had no right to be upset about it, because kisses were not so much and they weren't even supposed to feel this way. It was against every rule, and it didn't make them heroes. In fact, it was the very opposite.

Knowing this did nothing to dispel the sorrow.

"They care about you very much," Merlin said, and suddenly felt an awful constriction in his throat. It worsened when Gwen sniffled, needing to glance away from him, eyes turning somewhat glassy.

"Yes," she said, and refused to look his way again. "I love them. Truly, I do. It is a shame to be apart. I understand, though, how it is for the best..."

He swiped his arm under his nose as if that were the problem, and he blinked away the tears in his eyes. "Yes," he said. "It probably is."

She closed her eyes but a tear still managed to escape. She reached up to wipe it away but in a moment of sheer desperation Merlin moved quickly in her direction, laying a hand on her arm while the other went to her cheek to swipe his thumb across the damp line. She gripped his shirt with one hand, the other crossing over her chest to grab the hand that held her arm. They remained there a moment in a strange sort of clutch, knowing again how it was the last time, that it was not for him to pick her up and spin her around and laugh and tease and play this good-humoured game...

He kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes, and she clutched him that little bit tighter.

"Come," he said, his voice soft by her ear. "It's awful missing someone for so long."

"I'll return, then," she said, and he helped them both to their feet. She didn't look at him again as she trekked back up the hill to where their things were laid out, and quietly he followed her.

Neither noticed, but the little pink flower he had given her fell out sometime in their exchange. Sitting in the grass, it laid out in the sun to die.


	3. Chapter 3

_NOTES: Thanks for the reviews, guys! I hope to gather the time to personally reply but forgive me if it takes a moment! I also learned how to publish the guest reviewers, so thanks to you guys too, as I hadn't realized they were there at all until a while ago, ha! I hope this chapter is enjoyed. The rating will actually get bumped up next chapter, and not this one like I originally said. This chapter was double the length it is now, but I thought it went on for too long and so cut the piece in two, shifting the portion with a higher rating to the next chapter._

* * *

**THREE**

Merlin almost swore the castle walls cast judgement. Each brick edifice, each grey stone, every slant of marble and the finest of curtained threads. The portraits were another thing entirely, as the eyes of Camelot's great ancestors glared down at their treacherous subjects. The thump of his boots resounded down the long corridors, the scrape of her slippers making his ears itch. It wasn't so bad when there were other people around, but the closer they grew to the king's chambers, the less people there were.

And, yes, the _king's_ chambers. Gwen had left her things in there and, besides, always preferred to sleep in the king's bed when he was absent. She technically had her own rooms, but she rarely slept in them, not even in normal cases.

Somehow and suddenly that irked Merlin, twisting in his stomach painfully as he grimaced but continued onward, silent at her side, basket and blanket in hand.

It was wearing, the fact that Arthur could see her whenever he wished, and how Arthur probably couldn't even see what was difficult about Merlin and Gwen being together in even the most simplest of senses. He would see the basics, yes, but not understand its full root. All the while he could embrace her and kiss her and lay at her side. Merlin would be far away, on his own, cleaning something or helping Gaius and trying not to think about it. It hadn't really bothered him before. Yes, sometimes the thought of their distance upset him, but never like this. Those dormant springs in his heart, having come back to life, refused to settle again, and now they scorched his insides.

"You should let me carry something," Gwen said, and when she spoke it made him jump, voice ricocheting in the empty corridor.

He went to refuse her but she reached out and took the blanket from him anyway, rolling it neater and clutching it to her chest, smiling softly at him. He returned the tender regard. "Thank you," he said.

She nodded. "It's all right, Merlin."

There was something in her expression of his name. He wasn't sure if it was a recent development, but each sound seemed to hold a secret, something she wished to say and couldn't, but made plain in naming him aloud. Or perhaps he really was going mad.

Whatever the case, he was able to pass the basket over to one arm, tucking it against his hip. A moment later their hands, swinging at their sides, in between their gaits, brushed. They looked at each other with a startled expression, almost as though they had been struck. They blinked away the alarm, looking away, and Merlin wondered if her cheeks felt quite as warm as his.

When their knuckles brushed again, the motion was too back-and-forth to claim as an accident.

"And where were you two all morning?"

Their hands flew apart, clutching whatever they held, and they both whirled around at the voice. Merlin breathed out whereas Gwen held her composure.

It was just Elyan and Leon. Elyan who was smiling and Leon who stood a pace behind with an eyebrow quirked.

"We went to the lake," Gwen answered, and she sounded so normal Merlin almost believed nothing more than that had happened, and he had been there himself to know the truth. He looked at her as she smiled to her brother and Leon, and Merlin only looked there when Elyan asked, "That so, Merlin?"

"Hmm?" Merlin whipped his attention forward. He shook his head. "Yes. I mean—that is...yes." He grinned. It was far from the level of Gwen's ordinary disposition.

Elyan just laughed, a little more at Merlin's expense than with him in kind. He looked at him strangely as he and Leon went past.

"All right," he said. "Try not to get into too much trouble."

"No promises," Gwen teased, and Elyan smiled at her over his shoulder. Leon clapped a hand on his shoulder and said something, too quiet for Merlin to hear, but neither Merlin nor Gwen paid much mind as the knights wandered off. They looked, instead, at each other, with the sort of expression that spoke plainly of their nearly being exposed.

Not that there was anything to expose, he argued, as nothing more was happening. Nothing immense had happened anyway. At least physically. Its manifestation in his heart was beginning to wear away at his strength...

"Thank you, Merlin," Gwen said once they were settled in the room. He almost thought to request she not use his name, but that was foolish because she had nothing else to call him.

Merlin, on the other hand, could have very well bid a temporary farewell with the address of _Gwen_, but instead nodded his head and murmured, "my lady." When he looked back up at her she was staring at him, bottom lip ever so slightly pressed under her top teeth as she fought back whatever was on her mind. He glanced towards those teeth and lips for the smallest moment, recalling their kiss and her tender bite, and he had to wet his lips again. It seemed everything was happening all over and he really needed to leave before it got out of hand.

"I'll, uh, return later with your supper," Merlin said.

Gwen nodded vehemently, suddenly seeming quick to be rid of him. "Yes, good. Thank you."

He nodded a little slower, looking at her strangely as she approached, took him by the arm and lead him to the door. "I'll see you later then," she said, ushering him out. He stumbled into the hall, turning around just as she said, "Merlin," and closed the door. He waited a moment longer as the lock was bolted, then he stared at it for a moment in bemusement.

_Time alone is not a bad thing_, he told himself, turning away from the door to go back the way he came. _It's probably better if we keep our distance for a few hours; Gwen knows that. Surely by then this whole thing will blow over. _

_I'd bet the wealth stores of Camelot you're wrong. _

He sighed to himself, hurrying down the stairs. _I don't think I'll take that wager. _

Even he knew the odds, despite what he tried to otherwise convince himself.

* * *

He spent a good five minutes standing in the corridor, staring at the door and deciding what to say.

He sufficed to knock and query, "My lady?"

"Yes, come in," her voice resonated from the other side. Its warm tones softened his frayed nerves, and he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Guinevere was sitting at the table with a few papers scattered about. She was in a purple gown, certainly acquired post-coronation, but one of the older ones. He could tell straight away she had foregone most formal-under things; even the bodice was barely tied.

He realized his eyes should not have travelled so far and looked up to her face again.

"I brought you some dinner," he said, and tried to sound cheery. She rose, smoothing the front of her gown.

"Thank you, Merlin." She simply stood there, watching as he carried the tray over. He went about setting her place, laying out the food and pouring some wine. She gathered up her papers and placed them aside, and they glanced at one another out of the corner of their eye. For some reason his eyes then centred on her wedding band, and it was only when she reached out and grabbed onto his wrist did that focus break. "Watch out!" she cried, and he looked down as she pulled his hand back, realizing he had filled the goblet with wine and left it to overflow while he stared.

"Shit," he breathed, placing the jug down. Hands doused in wine, both his and hers for her having stopped him, he flapped about for a moment before looking at her, prepared to apologize for swearing. When he looked at her, though, she was suppressing a smile, trying _so_ hard to keep it down, and he could feel a bubble in the centre of his chest, pressing and pressing until he burst out laughing. She dissolved into giggles, covering her face with her hands and then laughing more when she scrubbed wine everywhere. Tears in his eyes from laughing, Merlin tugged his neckerchief off and took her hands to wipe them clean. Their laughter came to a slow quiet as he did so, and their hands shifted as she took the material to return the favour. There was when quietude befell them totally, and while they smiled still, those expressions began to soften. When they looked up at one another, it was with a still, sober regard. And in his heart of hearts he knew that though the eyes of Camelot castle followed and condemned him, it was in her stare that a part of him lived, and it was her glance alone that mattered. And he wanted so much more than to stare.

He wanted more than her nods, he wanted her smiles. He wanted more than her smiles, he wanted her laughter. He wanted more than her laughter, he wanted her words. He wanted more than her words, he wanted her embrace. He wanted more than her embrace, he wanted her kiss. And it would never stop from there. He wanted everything to do with her in a way he never had before. He had spent all this time looking forward to just being with her, and now that he had her he wanted to hold her and never let go. And their world would pull at him, tug at her, try to keep them apart, and that only meant he would have to hold on tighter.

They had been apart for so long, delving into confusion when they were finally granted permission to be side by side. And all those smile and passing nods they had been reduced to came back to injure them. It was sudden and drawn-out all at once, the passing of time shaping their story to some strange disfigurement. It made no sense, and where it did begin? More importantly, where did it end? It was conceived by light, but its middle was so dark he feared shadow was the only possible ending.

And confusion. Because suddenly it all made sense, and nothing was any clearer. Because she was standing in front of him and their hands were touching and her breathing was heavy and his mouth was dry and her lips looked soft and their fingers started rubbing and then laced together and the neckerchief fell somewhere to the floor and she was looking at his throat and down his chest until her gaze was turned down and small and he could hear his heart in his ears and she held his hands tighter... and he needed to take a moment to breathe lest his heart and lungs give out all at once.

Breathe he did, and her hold tightened as she looked up at him. What he would give to hear her thoughts right then.

"Say something," he said, because he was sure she would know what to do. He tried to speak with something of a light laugh, as if it were possible to lessen the load that way. But it was too hard to maintain and it didn't fool her.

"I—" she tried, and then took a step back. Their hands lingered for a moment where they were, then she let go and he was forced to comply. She took a few more steps back, one hand crossing her chest to touch her shoulder and the other arm wrapping around her waist.

"Please," he said, and took a step forward. "I don't—I don't want to hurt you..."

"I know, Merlin," she said, her voice a rasp. "I know that."

He swallowed, and the hand he raised in reaching out to her lowered.

"You're the best friend I could have," he said, and again tried to bring that smile forward. It lasted a moment then disintegrated again.

She heaved a deep breath, nodding. "As you are mine. You always have been."

"I always will be," he said, and her self-embrace loosened somewhat. He took a step back, but kept his gaze on her. He smiled weakly again. "I promise."

"Promise..." Gwen murmured after him, letting go of herself completely.

"I swear," he said. "I promised to always remember you, and I will. The person you were, and the person you are—"

"Merlin—" Her voice broke as she rushed towards him, stopping just close enough so his breath disturbed the curls framing her face. She breathed heavily, taking a step back in realizing her error. "I—" Her voice was shaking and he creased his brow, tempted to reach for her hand but not quite trusting himself to do so.

"Gwen," he said, and she looked away from him, so incredibly distressed it made his heart sink. "Gwen, please. I don't want you to be hurting. Think of—think of Arthur—" And this time he _forced_ cheer into his tone, trying, himself, to follow the words he said and give them meaning again. "You love him, I know you do. This...something between us...it's old and it's needy but I...I know it will get better. We're lost and confused but we needn't be."

"I fear it will not die so easily, Merlin," she said, and looked up at him again, lines hard on her face and features creased in concern and upset. "It is old, as you said, what is between us. For so long...you were so important to...you _are_ so important to me. But it was different, very different. And then...and then things changed, but I supposed they never really changed. And I do love Arthur, I do!" She turned away from him, grabbing the sides of her head as though clutching it would give her thoughts sense. It pained him to watch her thus. "He means the world to me, but you—" She turned back around to him, and his heart skipped another beat, he was sure. "You are different. You have always been different."

They stood there in silence, staring at one another for a moment.

Quietly, though he did not physically turn from her, he moved his gaze to the floor and said, "I should leave."

She reached out slowly and took his hand. Her fingers were ice cold and her whole hand quivered. He had not realized quite how cold his own hands were until his palm was against hers and they were both staring at that hold. They looked up at one another simultaneously, and she swallowed a lump in her throat before saying, "Merlin, I...what I mean..."

"Yes...?"

"Perhaps there is a way to put this behind us. To break these chains," she said, and she brought her other hand over their hold, patting his knuckles. He glanced down briefly then met her gaze, nodding.

"How?" he asked, torn. He wanted it to go away, _desperately_. He wanted this searing ache in his chest to end, for the fire under his skin to perish. Yet all the while he savoured their blaze and never felt more alive than in the smoulder of what he knew could only be the devil's fire.

"We will not speak another word of it. You will leave this room tonight, return in the morning to break fast, and we shall behave as though nothing has changed. All day long, duty and companionship, pleasantry, friendship, and nothing more or less, not to be seen by anyone, not even ourselves. And then...then..." Her voice shook a bit, and he was reaching for her face before the thought could stop him, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and touching his thumb over her cheek. She shivered and his hand lowered again, slowly. Then she continued, eyes closed, "Come to me tomorrow night."

His heart stopped.

"What?" He had no room for greater politeness in his enquiry. He stared at her, an ice descending over his veins, turning the blood to powder, and then a heat coursing head to toe that made the dust push achingly through his body.

"You do not have to," she said, opening her eyes, looking up at him quickly. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, nodding to him. "The choice is entirely yours to make. But, after witching hour, I will be here. There are guards who patrol the corridor, you know that, and my leaving these chambers would seem odd, but if you manage to get past then none shall know what transpired. If you too so desire it, we can...sate what curiosities linger, and that may be our liberation."

He was almost convinced he misunderstood her intention entirely, because surely she was not proposing what it sounded like?

"Our...liberation?" he echoed.

This suggestion was certainly past the point of no return – or so he had thought. Perhaps, instead, it _was_ the only point from which they could return. They had an unresolved tension set between them, and that would not easily fade, not without hurting. Perhaps a night, just one night, together, might put an end to it, offer resolution. Be their liberation.

"Think about it," Gwen said, and she squeezed his hand one more time before letting go. "I trust you," she added, and he looked into her eyes and saw no fear, but affection and truth so whole they seemed to dampen beneath the weight of emotion. "I trust your decisions; trust you to understand your own heart and desires. I will never speak of this again, and you need never speak of it again either, and, in fact, I trust in your confidence as surely as I trust in your decisions. This may be ours, this one small thing ours in a world where we have given up everything for the sake of a new beginning."

"For destiny," he found himself saying, and she nodded.

"Destiny, yes," she said. "I suppose it would be."

"And fate," he said, looking from his freed hand to her.

She smiled at him, a sad sort of regard. "We make our own fate. I love and respect you, Merlin. And I will live with whatever choice you make, and will never hold you as anything less than my dearest friend, whatever you decide."

"How do you feel?" he asked, had to know.

Her expression shifted behind her eyes, and she looked away from him. "I don't think I can fully love anyone so long as that part of my being holds onto the past. If you come tomorrow night, it can be resolved. I trust in us. If you do not, I will understand, and I will tuck it away and hold strong as I work my way through it. I know you love Arthur as well, which is why I would trust the choice you make, as I know you would not make lightly, as I do not lightly propose it."

He nodded, and decided right then it was time to leave, that he had things to sort out in his mind.

"My lady," he said, nodding his head to her.

She nodded back and murmured, "my Merlin."

He paused, looked at her a moment, and then nodded quietly, turning and making for the door. He looked back only once and found her staring ahead, lost in thought, but she turned to look at him when he stopped. For a moment their stare lingered, and then he opened the door and stepped into the dark corridor, closing it behind himself. Stepping forward, he passed a guard on patrol. They briefly acknowledged one another, and kind though it was, Merlin retreated quickly, as if the castle already knew all his secrets.

The marble and the stone all seemed to realize, and yet he still wasn't sure he would refuse to show face tomorrow night.

* * *

Gwen was born to be queen, and he realized that in her impeccable professionalism the following day. If it wasn't for the smaller, broken moments, where a glance was cast or a different sort of smile shared, he might have thought the entire day prior nothing but a dream. But it was not so, and those moments she broke stride, few and far between, were like being torn apart time and again. It left him aching, wanting to linger a moment more and knowing he could not and should not. All the while she would nod and smile pleasantly, address those who needed it, hear those who spoke, meet with those who called on her, and speak to Merlin as she had for years, as a friend, now a serving aid, and nothing more. Her own brother seemed fooled, never mind those around them. But then, who would have ever thought to suspect them of harbouring secret, treacherous feelings? The majority didn't even know Merlin was working at her side, and those that did knew them well enough to write off any such thing. They would probably laugh and jest before ever believe a word of it.

Still, Merlin was not so skilled in these weavings, games which were now mounted on a level much higher than he had even begun to consider. This was not just about Gwen and Merlin, not even just about Gwen, Merlin, and Arthur; this was about kings and kingdoms, the realm and its people, politics, friends, and enemies of the crown. They had to tread carefully, and Merlin spent most of the day trying to avoid everyone because he was certain he would crack under the first strange stare he got.

Luckily, the first and only one he received was from none other than Gaius.

"Merlin, you've been staring at that bowl of soup so long I fear it's gone ice cold." Gaius approached him from behind, laying a hand on his shoulder. Merlin looked up from his lunch, shaking his head.

"Sorry, what?" he asked blearily, looking up at Gaius. Gaius sighed, shuffling around the table to take the seat opposite where Merlin sat.

"Are you going to tell me what's the matter or am I going to have it pry it out of you?" Gaius asked, folding his hands on the table.

"The matter?" Merlin repeated, scooping up a spoonful of soup. "There's nothing the matter." He nearly choked on it, it was so cold.

Gaius looked at him with a knowing smugness, tipping his head to the side. "Now are you going to tell me the truth?"

Merlin sat there a moment, rubbing his thumb over the hilt of the spoon.

He had considered and re-considered his options. He supposed, in the first place, that Gwen would not have posed it, not given him so much power of decision, if it was not something she was sure about herself. There was no doubt on her part. It was whatever he decided, unless she changed her mind in the moment, which was something he would be acutely aware of, without a doubt. It was she who was important to him, not his own resolutions.

But at the same time it was dangerous, so incredibly dangerous. He did not doubt it could do something to sate the energy between them, the sudden fiery toxin that purged the very air from his lungs and made him feel hollow and hot all at once. Hollow in heart, a traitorous love he should not hold, and hot all over from the slightest of her glances towards his person. That said, whether it righted them or not, whether it allowed them build up everything between them and then expel it forever, was meaningless if they were somehow caught or found out. Or what if one their guilty consciences, settled in the now but breaking later, confessed to their sin and crime? Sin – this was adultery. Crime – this was treason. It was dangerous, so dangerous. His picking her up had been a foolhardy thing, their being at the lake without so much as a guard to watch them had been wildly inappropriate. Their kiss, the both, had been beyond words. And this, what they were considering, beyond all thought.

Which seemed true, as his thoughts only ran in circles and he did not know what to do. He knew what he wanted, what a great deal of him so craved, and also knew he wished to avoid it all the same.

He was not about to ask Gaius. Gaius who would be alarmed by the happenings, surprised and off-guard as so many would be if they found out. He would look at Merlin and tell him straight out not to go, because Gaius, loving and kind and usually understanding as he was, would not quite grasp how deep these feelings ran, how long they had existed, and how they haunted Merlin's every thought. He would think it so easy to write off without consideration.

So Merlin, vaguely, said instead, "Suppose there is a very good thing." Gaius perked up somewhat, intent on listening. Merlin continued, "It's the best thing in the world. It's powerful and beautiful and..." He waved his hands a bit and searched for the words, sufficing to drop his hands into his lap and sigh. "And it's painful. Now, suppose there was a way to be rid of the pain. But that erasure came with a possible price – one that involved a tenfold time more pain than the first. But that is not say the first pain is trivial. It is excruciating, it is...all-consuming. And what was good about this good thing is so good, but cannot exist properly with that pain. Should..._would_ you...take the chance?"

Gaius looked at him a bit strangely, turning his head in contemplation. "I'm not sure I follow," he said. "What is it you're looking to do?"

"It's not me," Merlin lied, looking down at his soup. He stirred it around in small circles. "A friend is caught between a rock and a hard place. One of the knights. I don't think he'd want me to say."

"Hmm." Merlin had no idea if Gaius believed him or not, but took his chances regardless. "I see. Well, I'm not sure how it concerns you, but you seem deeply worried for this person. I'll take it you care a great deal about them."

"I do," Merlin said without thinking, looking up at Gaius. He lingered a moment then looked back down at his soup as though nothing were wrong.

"So I see," Gaius said. "But I do not consider it your place to understand what pain this person may or may not be enduring. Nor is it mine. This decision requires no intervention beyond the party directly involved."

"Thought you might say that," Merlin grumbled, and smiled somewhat affectionately when Gaius rubbed the top of his head before standing.

"I am at least glad to see this person has not forgotten his friends, that he at least resorts to another's counsel before rushing into things. Whatever he decides, I hope the decision wise, and carefully acted upon."

_Yeah_. He definitely knew Merlin was talking about himself the whole time. Yet, he was obviously unaware of what the situation was, otherwise Merlin was quite sure he would speak far more gravely and directly than he was now.

"Thank you, Gaius," Merlin said, although it did little to help him. "I suppose he'll just have to keep considering."

"At least he's using his head this time." Gaius paused. "Though that has always reaped its own percussions..."

"Ha-ha, very funny."

* * *

He was set on the decision not to go. He sat up in his bed, unable to sleep, listening for the curfew bells, watching the moonlight stream in through the window, counting the minutes and hours. Yet as he sat in that small, worn-out bed by himself, all he could think about was her. The fact she would be waiting for him, sitting with perhaps as much anxiety as he was. That alone almost turned him, even more so for the fact he did not feel better for staying. If anything, he felt worse. It bubbled inside of his chest and up his throat, into his head, and was making his temples pulsate. And if he said no tonight, what would happen tomorrow morning? Tomorrow _evening_ Arthur would return. What if his presence did nothing to quell the spark between then, as Gwen so predicted? Would Arthur notice? But what if Merlin did go, and somehow Arthur found out?

And what if Merlin did not go, and this did resolve itself, but only on her end? That was most likely, he realized, and began to feel sick. When Arthur returned, he would be Gwen's, as he had always been, and she would be his, as she was destined to be. Merlin had no such person waiting for him, no such means to ease his mind, to bring peace to the long, upset nights. Gwen could forget about him, and he would stay in love with her, and he wasn't sure if that was better or worse. Worse, because no one wanted to be alone in their love, but better, because he knew she would no longer be hurting.

He stood up and paced his room, considering again and again. He tried to banish all pictures from his mind of her and what the night might prove, as it only made his muscles throb and blood pound. He settled into bed again with a slight hardness between his legs, but he practiced a steadfast negation and mentally sought its removal, thinking of anything but her and them. One brief rub of himself through his breeches only worsened his state, and he groaned and sat on his hands until they had gone a little numb, refusing still to surrender to these carnal, base desires. She was something worth so much more than petty satisfaction, and he would not draw her face into his sins.

He was doing this for her, he decided. To go to her would prove his need to sate the physical aspect of his love outweighed his care for her. To go to her was dangerous, and compromised her circumstance terribly. Arthur would return, Gwen would have him and she would forget all that transpired between herself and Merlin. Even if it was there, as it had always been there, in the back of their minds, she would have cause enough to force it back into shadow. He could then, at least, pretend it no longer plagued him, even as she held her husband's hand, accepted his kisses, and took to his bed...

Merlin loved Gwen more than anything. But she had a place in this world that was different from his, and while the best thing for him might have been to go to her, the best thing for her was for him to keep his distance. So he did what was best for her, knew she would forgive him, and knew she would eventually move on. He would still be here, burning, reaching, but it was better he burn alone than condemn them all to flame.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

Arthur returned, and Merlin was as pleased to see him as he was dreading it. He forced all thoughts of the latter from his mind and regarded the king as the friend he knew him to be, smiling as he came through the door to the royal bed chamber. There, Arthur glanced around, clearly surprised to find his manservant had actually tidied. It was barely Merlin's doing, however, as he reached the chambers only moments before Arthur's arrival. Gwen must have done most of it.

Merlin had not gone to her in the morning, not after what happened the night before – or rather what did not. He almost felt a coward though he knew it was for the best.

And who knew what might have become of them had he gone to her this the morning.

"You actually cleaned?" Arthur asked, wiping his hand over the table.

"Yes, sire," Merlin replied. "I certainly did."

Arthur dropped a sack onto the table, looking at Merlin with a sarcastic expression. "Guinevere did it, didn't she?"

"She, ah, might have done a bit."

"Well, then. Will it be the stocks or a flogging?"

"Come off it now," Merlin said, swiping at Arthur as he walked past. Arthur looked over his shoulder, smiling. "How was your trip?" Merlin asked as Arthur approached the bed, patting the pillows down.

"Fine," he said. "Nothing too exciting to report. How was the castle – aside from Guinevere apparently doing all the work?"

"The servants had a great three days off."

"Ha-ha, Merlin. You're _so_ funny." Arthur walked towards the wardrobe, sorting through it. "I'd forgotten my sleep-shirt. Grabbed one of Guinevere's night dresses instead. Upsetting at first, obviously. Made me miss her more than I thought I would, in the end." Arthur paused, and Merlin stepped to the side a bit to see what caught his eye. One of Gwen's gowns was hanging in the wardrobe and he had a piece of the material between his forefinger and thumb.

Merlin felt sick right then and there, not even sure to what end. Was it the fact he dared think the things he did when Arthur, his king, his destiny, his friend, so clearly adored his wife? Or was it the fact that Arthur did so clearly adore his wife, and that Gwen loved him in turn, which made him ill on its own? Whatever the case, Merlin cleared his throat and cast his gaze down, looking up only when Arthur slammed the wardrobe closed. It made Merlin jump, his heart skip a beat, as for one flittering moment he was scared he had said something aloud that angered the king. But Arthur was strolling pleasantly back to the table, and Merlin breathed a discreet sigh of relief, approaching as well.

"I'm back a few hours early," Arthur said, plucking some grapes from the bowl on the table. "Gwaine said Guinevere went for a walk, escorted by Elyan, naturally." Merlin didn't know that, though he supposed it explained why he hadn't run into her all day. His own avoiding could only work to a degree. He started to feel sick again, a thumping in his head beginning to resound. "Anyway, night will fall soon; I imagine she'll be returning any minute now. Seeing as I haven't had the chance to see her yet, when she gets back do you think you could...?" Arthur's sentence ended with a little jogging motion. Merlin raised an eyebrow, turning his head a bit.

"Sire...?"

"Leave," Arthur said, clapping a hand on either side of Merlin's head. "Honestly, Merlin. Subtlety and propriety mean nothing to you. I wish to bed my wife and I do not need you bearing witness, thank you."

However true a plan, it was delivered as nothing more than a jest. It was a joke, just a joke, and Merlin told himself that. It still stung more than a punch in the stomach, and he almost reeled back at the sudden remark.

Arthur didn't notice, taking more grapes from the bowl and saying through a full mouth, "Of course I reckon I'll have reports to oversee and paperwork to sort through, so make sure that's ready for me come morning. Other than that, take the night off." He clapped Merlin on the shoulder, and Merlin smiled dimly, knowing how false it must have looked. Arthur frowned, taking note of that at least, and retracted his hand. "Is something wrong?"

Before Merlin could even think of a reply, the door opened and Gwen rushed in, cloak fluttering and skirts swishing.

"Arthur!" she cried. Arthur's face broke into a wide smile, and Merlin was forgotten as the king jumped away to pick up his wife. Much in the same manner Merlin had done a few days prior, Arthur spun them around. When they landed, his back was to Merlin and Gwen was peering over his shoulder, seeming to notice Merlin only then. The smile she had worn when she greeted Arthur vanished, and she stared at Merlin with her arms around her husband's neck. Merlin stared back for a moment, then coughed, looking down. Arthur only then let go of his wife, turning to Merlin.

"Right," Arthur said, and he pounded his fist against his chest and cleared his throat. Gwen giggled and the sound was both light and a blow, and Merlin looked up but only at Arthur. "You can, um, you can go now, Merlin. Thank you."

Merlin nodded, retreating. He closed the door, still catching sound of Gwen's laughter as Arthur picked her up again.

He hurried down the corridor, fighting to block the onslaught of thoughts that made him want to curl up and never again move.

* * *

Needless to say, Merlin was surprised when he went into the king's chambers the next morning and found Arthur dressed, wandering around the room. Merlin gave the couple plenty of time to sort themselves out – the last thing Merlin wanted to do was find them in bed together – but Arthur had a tendency to lounge about even after Gwen had left his chambers. But he seemed alert, if not plagued by some thought that made him frown.

"Sire?" Merlin asked, closing the door behind himself.

"Ah, Merlin." Arthur approached, taking the papers from his hand. "Thank you." He turned around and stalked over to his desk. Merlin spent a moment calculating what just happened, then stepped further into the room.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

Arthur sat down at his desk. "Splendid."

"Where's, ah, where's Guinevere?"

"Her room, I imagine."

That was surprising as well. When Gwen left, it was usually to start her day, not return to bed elsewhere.

"Make the bed, will you," Arthur said, looking down at the papers and pointing to the bed with a quill.

Merlin took a step towards the door, pointing over his shoulder. "I'll just go get some clean sheets—"

"Not necessary," Arthur said, still not looking up from his papers.

Merlin straightened, looking from Arthur to the bed and to Arthur again. He approached the bed, watching the king all the while, though Arthur betrayed no thought beyond some bitter upset creasing his brow. Merlin looked down at the bed sheets and covers, finding them relatively undisturbed save for where Arthur would have slept peacefully – and likely on his own.

"What—" Merlin started, because his curiosity would be too much to otherwise bear.

"Not that it's your business," Arthur said, focussed intently on something he was writing. "But Guinevere felt ill yesterday, so she went to bed early."

"Oh." Merlin wasn't even sure how that made him feel. He tried, with difficulty, not to dwell on it. "Well, uh...I hope she feels better."

"Yes, me too." Arthur probably meant it innocently – or not, it _was_ Arthur – but the remark stung again. Merlin went about the making bed and feeling at least a little thankful he could put off thinking what he had thought for at least a little while. Even if it meant relapsing whenever Gwen decided she was feeling better.

* * *

Which turned was not for a week as her monthly cycle sprung into play. Merlin was even less sure about how to feel, knowing the king and queen had slept in separate chambers for a whole week. Of course, Guinevere could be legitimately ill, he didn't know, and he was hardly up to tabs on her body's cycle, but either way it all set him off in a spiral of upset. He didn't even know what he wanted. If things returned to normal, he could start to heal. But things weren't normal again, yet. Maybe if they were, it would turn out this throbbing in his bloodstream was just a momentary thing. He certainly did have a wont of succumbing to the overdramatic. But the longer it was put off, the worse it became.

And then worse became worst when Gaius stepped into their chamber one day, a grave expression on his face. Merlin had just stepped down from his room and was preparing to take a walk before he had to fetch Arthur's supper. It had been almost a month since Arthur's return and he was still trapped in the unusual pattern that had befallen the castle and its monarchs – and so, unwillingly, him too.

"Is everything all right?" Merlin asked. At least he did not sound so miserable anymore. He supposed that would all come crashing back when everything returned to complete normalcy. Then the healing would begin in slow, aching dredges, but at least he would not be trapped in this foggy between.

Regardless, Gaius' reply was not so carefree as he looked at Merlin with an air of high suspicion. It was the same regard he delivered whenever he suspected Merlin was involved in some wild new plot. Merlin had come to recognize it, but it was scarcely received without reason. He hadn't actually done anything, this time. That was unless Gaius was a mind-reader now too. Nothing of him had extended beyond thought, so he had no idea why Gaius regarded him in such a way.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, wishing to clear up the misunderstanding as soon as he could. Gaius stared at him a moment longer then looked over his shoulder, peering into the hall.

He looked back at Merlin. "Sit down," he said, and it was a sure enough order that Merlin, bemused, acquiesced. Gaius closed and locked the door, shuffling over to Merlin and taking a seat across from him at the small table. "Merlin," he said, his tone ever grave, "I am going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly."

"I will, Gaius," Merlin said, and he confessed to something of an anxiety sprang to life even if he had not done anything. Unless this was about something so small as kisses and spoken words. And those were nothing. They were everything, but they were nothing...

Gaius sighed, rubbing his own knuckles as he fought to formulate the question in his mind. Merlin leaned forward encouragingly, waiting.

"Arthur...has confided in me," Gaius said. "I convinced him he must have been mistaken, and he believes so as well, having merely sought a second opinion. It was not an easy question to ask, and it is even harder for me to ask you, seeing as it is the last thing I ever wish to suspect or accuse you of doing."

"What, did I kill the queen?" Merlin joked, but Gaius was not amused.

"Not so," he said. "However, I do wish to know if you have visited her bed."

Merlin was quite sure he went entirely white. "Vis—G-Gwen? Guinevere? I—no! No, of course not!"

He was sure the sensation came back to burn him right there, as they stood in the king's bed chamber holding hands, smelling of wine and love and betrayal. But _words_, only words. And thoughts and desires too, maybe, but only words.

"I believe you, Merlin," Gaius said, and perhaps he was oblivious to the thoughts behind Merlin's eyes, or perhaps Merlin was better at channelling his direction.

"Why do you ask?" Merlin posed the query sounding almost sad again.

Gaius sighed once more, scratching the side of his head. "Though it was not the first coupling since his return, Arthur...believes...that...last night..." Whatever it was, Gaius was having difficulty saying it, and Merlin could feel his insides sinking. "That the queen, gathered in the...throes of passion, as it were...uttered a name that was not the king's."

All of a sudden Merlin was aware of his blood pumping a tenfold time faster than it was before. Suddenly the image of Gaius' words was all that existed in his mind, and he damned it and wished it to go away but it would not relent.

Gwen, oh _Guinevere_, so beautiful and affectionate, welcoming to her adoring husband as they fell onto those hot red sheets in a tangle of sweat, limbs, and love. How might she have been? Open to him, as she was, letting him take her, gasping and moaning and threading her fingers through his golden hair only to find his fingers between her legs and a name on her lips that begged through the candlelit chamber, "_Merlin_..."

Burning all over, Merlin stood, turning away from Gaius lest his musings physically manifest themselves.

"I..." Merlin began, finding his throat dry. He coughed, looking at Gaius over his shoulder. "I don't understand. She...why she would do that..."

"I am sure it was a misunderstanding, Merlin," Gaius said, standing. "I didn't think you guilty of any such treachery for even a moment. I only wished to hear it from your own mouth. It was an error, I'm sure."

Treachery. Every course of action seemed a unique treason to a different part of his heart, and he almost thought it might spend itself right there and stop beating, leaving him in a heap on the floor so Gaius might say, "he died of heart failure, I haven't any idea why" while maybe Guinevere might know, somehow, he died of love.

Love . Love and its many associates. Desire and yearning and passion and all the misery it could summon. He was a man suffocating in the embrace of a traitorous love, and he was going to burn the kingdom down.

"I need to take a walk." He had spoken the words before even considering them, making for the door.

"Merlin—" Gaius began, but Merlin paid him no heed. He wrenched the door open and turned down the corridor. He needed air.

* * *

Merlin spent a moment considering who, from their place in the afterlife, might be watching him and throwing into his path such coincidental agonies. Then he supposed he had more enemies in the netherworld than could be counted, and he was sort of surprised this sort of thing had not happened before.

Regardless, as he paced through the fields beyond the castle, turning down a row of trees and touching his hand to the bark of one, he spotted in his direction Elyan and Gwen. Merlin stopped in place, rendered completely still. Elyan spoke, about what Merlin could only guess, and Gwen listened, her arm looped with her brother's as they strolled.

Merlin stared at her. Her long hair was partly done up, neat braids wrapped around her head, the remaining curls cascading down her back. Her dress was pressed and neat, blue and laced up everywhere. He wondered who her new maidservant was or if Arthur had simply helped her. Her cloak was a dark green and long, her hood lowered as it was a warm day. She smiled softly at something Elyan said.

Elyan noticed Merlin first, coming to a slow stop where he walked. He muttered something and Gwen looked at him strangely, then down the path to where Merlin stood. He saw her tense almost instantly, her lazy sort of slouch stiffening so her shoulders squared and her head was high. Gwen to Guinevere. She looked at Merlin for a moment, and he stared back almost unwittingly, glancing down only when she tore her gaze from him to address Elyan. By the time he looked back up, Elyan was at his side, laying a hand on his arm.

"Be careful, Merlin," he said, and Merlin blinked at him confusedly. Perhaps Gwen had told him more than Merlin might have guessed. He was her brother, after all. Who else would she go to in confidence? Other than Merlin, but he was the cause of this emotional heaving. "Don't hurt her. Or yourself."

Merlin said nothing as Elyan slapped his arm affectionately, turning and walking the way Merlin had come. Merlin watched him retreat, and then froze in place as he could sense Gwen's approach. Turning slowly back around, he found her coming to a slow stop just a few paces ahead of him.

"Hello, Merlin," she said, and his name on her lips instantly summoned the scene of Gaius' words.

But perhaps it _had_ been a misunderstanding, he told himself before it danced too out of hand. She could have muttered anything that sounded like his name.

_Merlin rhymes with quite a bit, doesn't it? _

The voices in his head suddenly started to rattle off, _porcelain, iron tin, stick it in— _

—_don't be vulgar._

_You started it._

He rubbed a thumb against his temple and nodded his head to her. "My lady," he said, and the address affected them all over again.

"How...how are you doing?" she asked, wringing her hands. He glanced their way before turning his gaze from her completely.

"Good," he answered. "Not bad. And you?" He looked down at her again, wishing to watch her as she replied.

She nodded, freeing her fingers to clap her hands together. "Fine!" She let out a large breath, smiling at him. She had come to master a feigned expression so well it almost fooled him. Almost. "Very well, thank you."

"Arthur told me you were feeling ill a few weeks ago," Merlin said, stomach knotting as her feigned smile couldn't even stand anymore, and she had to turn her gaze down. She rubbed her hands on her sides as if her fingers were cold.

"I was. I'm feeling better now, I think."

"That's good."

"Yes, it is." She looked up at him again. "And you...? And Gaius? All doing well?"

"Yes, still good," he said, and laughed lightly in spite of himself. She did the same, smiling a little more genuinely, then turned her gaze down once more. He supposed it for the best. Every time their eyes met his heart would thump so heavily he swore to feel it hitting his ribs.

Thought it did not quite have that affect when she looked up at him again, clearly upset. He turned his head, half-ready to step forward, half-ready to fall on his knees and beg forgiveness for having looked at her the wrong way.

_You haven't done anything. Just let her speak. _

"Arthur..." She scratched behind her ear, looking anywhere but at Merlin. "Arthur hasn't...told you anything?"

He knew exactly what she feared just then, and Merlin could essentially guarantee that what they all thought happened and denied happening, _had_ happened. What would Arthur even do in a moment like that? Merlin supposed he said and did nothing out of the ordinary, only thought about it, but it wouldn't have mattered to Gwen. Sweet, caring Gwen who did love Arthur with so much of her heart. She would have felt guilty about it. And Arthur obviously didn't reveal his knowing so well, nor that he would seek Gaius for counsel. Gwen was only scared Arthur had gone directly to Merlin. No, Gwen was just scared of Merlin knowing at all.

So he shook his head and replied, "Um, no." And he knew his attempts at pretending to be blind were null. He could feel the blood in his cheeks and ears. He swiped a tongue over his dry lips then blinked his stare away from her. The colour seemed to drain from her where it flooded him.

"He...oh..." She grabbed fistfuls of her skirts and started to run, darting past him.

Without thinking twice – _horrible habit_ – Merlin reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him with a desperate, "Gwen, wait—"

She whirled around, hair flipping about the air, skirts swishing as she turned. Then her gaze was up on him, her eyes were wide and pupils dilating. Her bodice seemed suddenly constricting as she heaved heavier breaths and he tried to stop tracking the rhythm. He wondered if his fingerprints seared her skin through the sleeve of her dress as surely as she affected his hold.

"I...I'm sorry..." He didn't know what else to say. What was he supposed to say? Was there something usually recited in a time like this?

"Sorry?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "You..." She breathed in deeply, shrugging a bit so he would let her go. He did, hand dropping to his side. She closed her eyes, breathing evenly as she said, "You have nothing to apologize for, Merlin. It's not your fault. I told you that I trust you, completely, and I do. Everything else that might happen is fault of my own."

"You are not any more at fault," he said, and resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and bring her near so she understood. She did open her eyes and glance his way, though. "It's just us, Gwen. Whatever this is, I'm sure it will pass and—"

"Do you think it's that easy?" she asked, face contorting to ire. "Merlin, I can scarcely look upon my husband's face without feeling guilty for simply desiring to look upon another man. A man who I very well should not wish to look upon as anything but a friend." He could sense some of the old Gwen slipping through, wrapped up so surely in her emotions she ran through every word without a second consideration. "Do you understand what it's like? What this does to me? And I try to suppress it and it doesn't work. I have tried to move past it, and if it is so easy for you then I ardently implore you to instruct me in your method for I promise nothing I've tried has worked! I keep away from you and then I miss you. I look upon you and then wish to be far from you. And when my husband takes me to his bed, no matter how surely I battle it, i cannot help but imagine it is you inside of me and—!"

She seemed to realize what she said, recognizing the shock clearly drawn across his face, and she slapped her hands over her lips. "I...what I mean...I don't..."

"How..." His throat was dry. He tried to clear it but it did little to form anything above a rasp. "Do you think it's easy for me?" he asked, and he could see her breathe in quick increments now.

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "Even when we were younger, it always seemed I loved you more than you loved me."

He almost said, "I love you now," but fought it back down, because that could not help her.

_Let her go, let her go..._

_But neither of you want to let go. She wants you to keep her there. _

_She wants you to send her away. Wants you to walk away. _

_She would have left a long time ago if she didn't want to be near you. _

_She just wants to end this right here and now. Let her go. _

"Merlin," Gwen said, voice breaking on a sigh. Merlin blinked quickly, finding his heart to beat in a peculiar rhythm that felt entirely crooked. "I..." Whatever she was going to say left her mind, and she shook her head, waving a hand. "I need to return."

"To him?" he asked as she began to turn away. He had no idea why he asked it, and wished he hadn't when she turned back around to look at him.

"To my husband, you mean?" she asked. He said and did nothing. "No. I cannot look at him today."

"Tonight?"

"I may."

"You will?"

"He is my husband."

"And you want him to...?"

"I love Arthur."

"And what am I?" He almost just wanted her to say _nothing_ so he could be heartbroken and alone and left to work it out.

She simply answered, "Merlin. And my best friend." And he was, so he said nothing more as she turned away.

And he certainly had nothing to say when she turned slowly back around, looked him in the eye, and said in a quiet, broken voice, "And I fear I will think of you still." And then she had turned and left.

When Merlin returned to his room Gaius was gone, perhaps out to fetch things for supper. Whatever the case, it was the last thing on Merlin's mind, and he went straight to his room where he bolted the door and fell on his bed in a frustrated heap of wanting and need. He had fought so many urges down, but knowing now she thought of _him.._. Knowing that when she was in that moment of ecstasy or when her husband filled her it was Merlin behind her eyes. That she wanted to feel him and taste him and take from him something she could find no where else because she was Gwen and he was Merlin and that's the way it had always been. It was not their destiny, but it was their fate, and fate was as relentless a pursuer as her sister, and just as cruel if not more so.

Deft and quick strokes, he came hard into his own hands before blinking away the mess with a simple spell. He lay there afterwards, breeches yanked down, shirt still on, coat discarded somewhere in the room and neckerchief following it. It took a moment more for him to right his clothes, and even then he stayed in bed.

Now this was the end, he thought. This was their fate. Destiny had pulled them apart, and they could be sated only in thought. He would live with this, he would have to.

They were not children. They were not such artless youths, unworldly and naive, traipsing through the world as they once were. They were in the plot of destiny and the game of life, a world of kings and politics where the people around them kept track of the score and let nothing slip past. What they once had was now gone forever. Smiles and passing nods might become their wont, but even then duller than before. Between them would be distance, would have to be some distance. He had the strength to be miles away but none at all to hold her hand and leave it there. And if she reciprocated with an unwillingness as wretched as his own, then it would have to be more so. They would destroy themselves otherwise.

Smiles and passing nods. That was their destiny. And to always think of the other, to always _remember_, was their fate.

He brought Arthur dinner. Arthur was quieter than usual, but Merlin caught him smiling in spite of himself when Merlin tripped over a pail. He supposed it seemed like old times. Merlin righted what he knocked over, asked Arthur if he needed anything more, and was dismissed. He returned to his own rooms and had dinner with Gaius, shared in complete silence, then he went to bed.

Midnight struck.

And he knew.

He _knew_ smiles and passing nods would not be enough. Not so long as they knew, not so long as they...

He pulled a coat over his grey sleep shirt, dusted off his brown breeches, left behind his neckerchief and worries, and slipped past Gaius and out the door, into the castle corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

_**NOTES:** This chapter certainly warrants the adult rating. Sexual content abound, but all consensual. Use your own discretion. As for the reviews, thank you all very much! I'm glad to see the story is being enjoyed and I hope I can continue to please. :) _

* * *

**FIVE**

Gwaine caught him.

Of course it would be Gwaine.

"Merlin?" he whispered, not wishing to disturb anyone who might have been sleeping. Merlin stopped in the middle of the corridor, heart cutting short just as surely, before he turned around to face the music. Gwaine stood a little straighter, looking at Merlin strangely. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes. I mean, no. No. Nothing's the matter."

Gwaine continued to look at him strangely. Merlin sighed.

"You mustn't tell anyone," he said, and moved swiftly to stand before him. Gwaine nodded, rubbing his thumb on the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip. Merlin leaned towards him to whisper, "It's Arthur. I wasn't supposed to say, it embarrasses him, so you must not breathe a word that I let you know...but he's been having terrible nightmares and asks that I check on him from time to time."

Gwaine stood straight, jaw jutting out. "Really?"

"It's bizarre, I know, but he's the king and you know how night can be. There are...secrets in the dark. It's not a concern, I don't mind. I haven't been sleeping well anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Oh, uh." He supposed he should have left that out. "Not sure. Just haven't."

"Hmm." Gwaine began to turn, still looking at Merlin suspiciously. "All right. But why does the queen not check on him? Is she not likely to be with him anyway?"

"Yes, well..." Merlin rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Does she seem, compared to me, more likely to fend off a monster? Imagined or otherwise?"

Without missing a beat, Gwaine nodded and said, "Yes. Absolutely, she does."

Merlin frowned. "I was summoned regardless. Thank you, Gwaine, for your time and encouragement."

This seemed to lighten Gwaine's spirits, and he smiled pleasantly, thumping Merlin on the arm. "You're a good lad," Gwaine said. "And a good friend to boot. Say hi the monsters under the bed for me."

"Shall do," Merlin said, nodding. Gwaine turned and went back the way he came. He was in full uniform but to be honest Merlin wasn't sure if he was on duty or half-drunk and wandering the castle in the middle of the night. Although, knowing Gwaine, it could have very well been both.

Either way, Merlin was glad it was Gwaine who found him and not another guard, or even one of the other knights. If Elyan saw him, he would surely know what was happening. If Leon or Percival saw him, Merlin might have finished tongue-tied, as they were slightly more imposing.

In any matter, Merlin turned and moved swiftly down the dark corridor, careful to walk lightly as he could, and muttering an incantation that would soften the thud of his boots on the floor.

He was an idiot and he knew it. There was a fair chance Gwen was not even in her own chambers, that she was in Arthur's like she usually was, and he was taking this risk for no reason at all.

And he was weak, so weak. He tried so hard to keep away, and he ended up here regardless, only this time Arthur was actually around for it.

_Brilliant. Shame you couldn't have done this a month or so ago. I hear Arthur was gone for a few days or something._

_Be quiet, I don't need your lashing tonight._

But Gwen wanted him. More than wanted, she all but needed, and had said so plainly to his face. And he was working himself into a right mess. They needed something tangible, to grip and to use and then maybe let go. And even if they never let go, not really, after this one exchange they could part knowing they had their time, knowing they had their moment. He thought he was protecting her by staying away but he was only hurting them both. She said she could only move on after she had let go of the past. He would never move on, but he could survive the long days. She already owned his heart; he would deny her nothing more. She could have his body, his mind, his very soul, and he would willingly submit them to her. Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, and she could hold it for as long as she wanted and then cast them to the wind if she grew tired of it. He would let her do what she pleased later, but tonight they needed each other. Tonight, he would take fate into his own hands.

He stopped at her door. There was no light beneath the cracks, but he could no easier guess her slumber than her absence. His heart was thudding either way. He didn't want to knock. If it was too quiet she would not hear it, and if it was too loud then someone else might. And there wasn't even a guarantee she was there to hear him.

He tentatively tucked his fingers around the door handle, pushing. It was locked, so he cast a spell in his mind and watched as, with a spark, the lock came free. Pushing the door, it creaked ever so slightly, and he looked over his shoulder as he ducked into the dark room, checking there were no guards or others about, and then pressed the door closed. He stood with his back to the room, not that he could see anything anyway, as the windows were curtained and all lamps doused, but he cast another incantation in his mind and when the door shut the locks all righted themselves, bolting in place.

"Merlin?" Gwen's groggy voice sounded in the dark, making his heart stop.

His back kept to the room, his hand stilled on the door, but he said back softly, "Gwen?"

Silence engulfed them again, and for a split moment he wondered if Arthur was there. He had never even considered it as the king never visited the queen's chambers, only the other way around, but then he supposed Gwen would not have addressed him so openly if he was, and so his heart slowed again.

He heard shuffling behind him, blankets shifting, feet hitting the floor. He turned around slowly, blinking at the sudden light, a trickle of flame she set to a candle on her bedside table. The spark died after lighting, the candle glowing warm so she could toss the lighting wick aside. Merlin stared at that light for a moment then looked at her. She was dressed in a long ivory nightgown, hair braided and pulled over her shoulder. Her feet were bare on the cold floor, but she was flushed with warmth, eyes heavy from recently stirred slumber. He could feel his heart, beating somewhere in his throat by the sense of it.

"I—" he began, then cleared his throat, shaking his head. "You...you don't have to..." he said, looking up at her as she stared at him, expression kind if not curious. "It was foolish of me to come, I know. _I know. _Send me off right now and I promise I will never breathe another word of anything to you again."

"I wouldn't want that," Gwen said, shaking her head. She took a small step towards him. "Imagine life without Merlin." She breathed deeply, smiling gently. "I cannot do it."

He smiled back at her, fond regards passing between them.

It took one insant to cross the room, both of them rushing to meet halfway.

Collapsing instantly in a strong embrace, his mouth was on hers, leaving them to press and kiss and gasp. She mewled a content little cry, hooking her arms around his neck as his lips dropped to her jaw and then throat, sucking and tasting and marking the moment on her skin and in his mind.

"Be careful, be careful," she said, her voice light and delirious, and he knew she was right and would bear in mind to leave behind as little evidence as he could. On her skin, at least, as his heart was recorded this night already, and all he had was the taste of her mouth and neck. He wanted everything.

Lips locked, she pulled her arms back so she could tear at his jacket, and the kiss broke only momentarily, foreheads pressed together as he reached back to pull the sleeves down his arms and toss the material to the floor. His arms wrapped around her instantly, hers clutching the front of his shirt as they crashed together once more. They were all memory and affection and love, and they smiled at one another through small, short kisses, as she hooked her fingers through the ties of his shirt and began a backward trek to her bed, eyes never straying from his.

"I am glad you're here, Merlin," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The candlelight illuminated each perfect feature, leaving them to glow while the rest of the room, and world, lay hidden in shadow.

She sat on the high bed, hopping up to position herself, and pulled him forward, needing to part her legs for him to stand close enough to lean over and kiss her. He stood with her knees pressed against his hips, pleasing her with a long, warm kiss on the mouth, tongues tracing, their fingers lacing together, pressed against her thighs. When he pulled back, she followed in slight, pressing her forehead just by his cheek. Their eyes remained closed that moment more as they relished in the comfort of being with each other. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering, then against one closed eyelid, her temple, and then dropping his lips to her ear with a murmured, "my lady..."

A shiver ran down her spine. She stroked her fingers beneath his chin, tilting his face up so his gaze was bearing down on hers. So taken with this gentle demonstration, he missed the moment her other hand moved, and reacted only when she grazed the hem of his shirt, clasped her thumb into his breeches, and pressed her hand against the hard length of him through the material. After that it was seconds before she was on her back, dress hiked up past her knees, breathing heavy as he knelt with either leg encasing one of her own, his fingers drawing down her throat to the front ties of her nightgown. Her hand was tearing at the front of his shirt, almost ripping straight through the ties. With a gentle shove from her he complied, sitting back to lift his shirt over his head and toss it away. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, tossing her braid back, uncaring to the sleeves of the gown falling loosely about her shoulders. Merlin leant towards her, drawing her onto her back again. She lay down slowly, tracing her fingers up the centre of his chest like she had that day by the lake. This time her fingers swivelled and danced, thumb twirling over a nipple so he grunted by her ear before pulling more of the ivory material down her shoulders.

"You might rip it," she gasped through her words, the night-gown nearly hanging off an arm.

"Don't care," he muttered, kissing the side of her head. She laughed pleasantly, choking it down to keep quiet. He smiled, kissing her lips before taking her by the shoulders and pulling her up. "All right," he said, throat dry as he spoke. "Sit up. I will help you with your gown, my lady."

"How good you are," she said, moving onto her knees so they were positioned similarly in front of one another, thighs pressed together, faces close, her hand trailing down his chest towards his breeches. She stopped at its hem, retracting her hand to push her braid which had flopped forward back over her shoulder. The rush of hot blood which gathered below forced him to twitch uncomfortably at the tease. She smiled at him, a little too knowingly, and he shook his head, carefully undoing the front ties of her gown, gaze fixated on hers as he did so. Leaning in close, he drew open the front of the dress. He stroked his fingers across her collarbone, grasping the material in hand and drawing it down her arms. She shivered at the revelation, and he spent a moment with one hand on her arm and the other on her shoulder as he let the sight of her sink in. This could very well be his only opportunity...

...yet he suspected, as they kissed again, hands searching between their bodies, warm skin pressed tight together, that this night would do nothing to quench his thirst, and instead leave him all the more desperate for her.

They rocked together through the material between them, kiss hot and heavy, their chests pressed together. Her arms were loose around his shoulders and his hands tight on her hips. He hooked his thumbs around the material gathered there, tugging slightly. She pulled her head back but arched her body forward, hands sliding off his shoulders to meet at her waist. He held her in place, hands settled on her lower back, as she reached for the material at her hips. At such an effortless vantage, he leaned forward and twisted his tongue against her breast, near to her nipple, which made her quiver until he took the nub between his lips and she whimpered. Reaching forward to grasp at him, she gripped the top hem of his breeches. All the while her other hand continued to force its way through the material at her hips, trying to push it down.

"Merlin...Merlin..." The very same name on her lips no matter whose were against her, he told himself, lifting one hand to rub his thumb over the lavished nipple, demonstrating the same care to her other breast, glancing up at her expression as he did so. Her eyes fluttered, closing and then opening with every little sound she made, like she was fighting to keep watch. She pulled him closer by the front of his breeches, raising them both onto their knees again. "Call me your lady again," she said, breathing against his lips. "It reminds me how everything has changed, and how nothing has."

How long they had loved each other and how they always would, the world they had, the world they were in, or the very next world if it took that much. He understood.

"My lady," he said, dropping his head the crease between her neck and shoulder, pressing kisses there. She moaned, sliding her hand up his shoulder, the other struggling to untie the front of his breeches. Her knuckles prodded where her fingers failed, and her constant pressing and releasing was leaving his mind in pieces shattered so small he almost feared coming far too prematurely. Quick to abate the difficulty, he splayed his fingers across her skin and laid her on her back. He drew his hands out from under her, tracing them over her sides. She kept a knee on either side of him, and he looked at her face, flushed, and lips, bright pink and swollen, and the few little telltale signs across her skin he had not been able to prevent. He dragged his hands up her thighs, to the knees bent on either side of him, and he gathered the material left there. She closed her eyes, lifting her hips as he pressed the ivory silk together in order to draw it down.

"Please, Merlin," she murmured, pulling one leg out of the dress as per his guiding, then straightening the other as he dragged the fabric down. It reached her ankle where he let go and she kicked it off. When he looked back she had opened her eyes and was watching him. He pressed a hand on either knee, turning to the inside of her legs.

"And now, my lady?" he asked, gazing down at her. Her chest would swell with every breath, the small curve of her stomach rising and falling, the muscles beneath his hands tensing.

"Now...?" she murmured, fingers beginning to twist the bedcovers around her. "Now..."

Her breath cut short as he leaned down, placing a kiss against her knee. She hummed at each upward progression, each kiss seeming wetter and fuller than the last. No, Merlin never considered it his destiny to be the lover a story, but this was their fate and it was entirely different. Her body seemed to map out her desires exactly, and by each noise she made he knew which path was fit for treading.

"Are you—what are you—?" She began to shift, looking down at him as he neared himself to the nestle of hair and nerve between her legs.

"Yes, my lady?" he purred, and slowly pressed his thumb into her. She swallowed, hips shifting, knee beginning to bend. He grabbed hold of that leg, spreading his fingers across her thigh, twisting his other hand to stroke two deft fingers inside of her. Her muscles tensed again and her breath was already picking its speed.

"You—" she started, ending as he began rub back and forth.

"Yes?"

"_Merlin_."

"Yes." He stroked, rubbed, pinched, and watched as each press and touch affected her, forced her to a pant, made her moan or squeak or bite her lip until she was lifting her hips against his hand and he stopped.

She was breathless. Her eyes fluttered open, ending wide, and she looked down at him, gasping "wha—" She returned only when he dipped his head between her legs and pushed his tongue clean through her, swiping and needing until her fingers had threaded his hair and her knees were buckling. "Merlin, _Merlin_." He was quite sure her utterances were mostly for his benefit, but they worked regardless given the almost painful strain contained within in his breeches. He licked and pressed until she fell apart around him, a high sigh breaking from her throat as she clasped her hands over her lips to keep quiet.

When she was again settled, breathing shallow, he swiped his tongue upwards in a lazy tease. She smiled and clutched his hair, tugging. He followed where she led, kissing the side of her mouth lest she not want the taste he had on his lips, but she turned his face towards her anyway and kissed him. His hand cupped her breast and for a moment they lay there, kissing languidly like that day at the lake. It was she who eventually turned, rolling him onto his back and sliding down to undo his breeches, easier now that she had both hands. The last of their material hindrances tossed aside, Merlin pushed himself up onto his elbows, intending to sit all the way up until she took his hard length in her hand and began to stroke.

"Gwen—" he croaked, reaching towards her, struggling to sit up. "Gwen—"

"My lady."

"My lady, _please_."

She let go and helped him sit. Once settled, she climbed onto his lap, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him once. He was pressed at her entrance, tantalizing and needy before he pushed upwards. They moaned into each other's shoulders, somewhat stifled, and she lifted her hips in a tormenting slow drag, lowering herself onto him again. She pushed him at a different angle and it made her moan a practical song. Her nails scraped his shoulders and back, his hands switched from a clutch on her hips and lower back sporadically, certain he would leave bruises no matter where he held. Back and forth, thrusting up and pushing down, the occasional swivel of her hips against his, they held each other tight as their muscles tensed and fought. He let go of her only to move back onto his elbows again, momentarily making his movements smoother, and she pushed down on his chest so he lay flat on his back. Barely quieted moans and gasps sounded about the room, and he pushed away from the headboard when their actions were forceful enough for them to knock it against the wall. It was before long he could feel the familiar swell and tide building, and he reached between them to press his fingers against her again, matching his earlier efforts with careful but quick rubs, making her come with a new shudder before his own resolve broke. His hands fell to his side, clutched the blankets then her hips, and he pounded upwards until he came.

Not long after that, they laid side by side, staring up at the blood red canopy suspended above their heads. The candle still flickered at the bedside table. They didn't look at one another for a moment, and Merlin tried not to think, which was easy enough as his mind was somewhat foggy.

She reached out and lightly touched his hand, laying her palm over his knuckles. He turned his hand around to lace their fingers, and they turned heads to look at one another.

"Tonight," she said, tone grave, "there is only this. We will not...think or...consider...Please, Merlin, tell me you understand—"

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, smiling affectionately.

"Anything for you, my lady."

She smiled, rolling onto her stomach and tossing her arm over his chest, kissing him gently. He returned the embrace and kiss, dreading the morn, but never living so highly as in that moment right there.

The candle still flickered when he woke to morning a few hours later.


End file.
